The Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Week
by Victoria Hughes
Summary: [indefinite hiatus] An ancient artifact turns back the biological clock on SG1 ... and unfortunately, the goa'uld are on the way.
1. A Typical Day

Chapter 1: A Typical Day 

Oh, he really didn't feel so good.

Daniel rolled over on the sand dune he had evidently been deposited on and coughed, groaning. His head pounded, and he slit his eyes open only to press them shut again against the blinding light. Ugh, what was that . . . ? He hurt all over.

Where was he? What was going on? He pressed a hand to the side of his head and tried to remember. Ah yes . . . he remembered ruins, runes that weren't quite like runes, and goa'uld text . . . he'd touched something he shouldn't. Something had flashed, and now here he was, on the dunes and in agony. Flashes were never good.

This wasn't going to get him anywhere. He had to get up – hadn't heard any voices yet, so had the flash hit the rest of SG-1 as well? Not good. Where was Teal'c? Teal'c always recovered first. Where was he?

He had to sit up and look around. Assess the situation. That's what Jack would do, right? He was better for distress situations. Daniel rolled onto his back again and flung his arm over his eyes, catching his breath. Yes, the pain was fading. Okay, he could do this. He curled forward, drawing his legs up to sit, and waited for the dizziness to fade before opening his eyes again.

The light was still almost blinding, the sun glittering off the dunes as a million glinting points, and Daniel had to squint to see. His glasses were falling off his nose, so he reached up to push them back.

Woah, was that his hand?

Daniel jumped at the sight of his hand. It seemed proportionate, but it wasn't _his_ hand; the fingers were short and round, and the bones weren't prominent. Sarah had always thought he had delicate hands. These were . . . child hands.

And his glasses were slipping down his nose again already, and suddenly Daniel realized with growing horror that his BDUs were much, much too big for his body, his shoes large and oafish over his feet. What was going on . . . ? He pushed up his sleeves, patting down his body in bewilderment.

Oh no. Oh nonono. This had to be him dreaming.

His glasses fell off his nose and landed in his lap, and Daniel came to the irrefutable conclusion that his body was that of a child.

This nearly ignited a panic attack, but Daniel grit his teeth and drew a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. All right, this was hardly the worse possible outcome from a blinding flash from some ancient ruins. He just had to make some clothing adjustments for the moment and find the rest of SG-1. He lifted his head and looked around, orienting himself as he replaced his glasses tentatively on his nose. They were hopelessly large for his face, but they'd have to do.

He was at the top of a dune, and the ruins were some one hundred feet off; Daniel didn't have the faintest clue how he'd gotten so far from what he'd been working on. He rolled to his knees and scrambled over the crest of the dune to look down into the valley behind it and found the body of a young girl on the verge of her adolescence. Her hair was short and blonde, and Daniel realized with a start that she was also wearing oversized BDUs.

So. This was Sam, also reduced in age.

Daniel's first instinct was to slide down the side of the dune immediately, but his pants were coming off, so first he quickly cinched his belt in place before pelting down the dune to her side. She didn't appear to be hurt; she was breathing evenly, curled halfway on her side, the only sign of any real distress her furrowed brow. "Sam?" he asked breathlessly, then jumped a little at his own voice – he recognized it as his own, but it was unbroken. "Sam, wake up. It's Daniel," he said, gently shaking her shoulder with a hand completely hidden by his sleeve.

"Huh . . . ?" Sam groaned softly, then reached up to her head, nearly knocking Daniel's knee with her elbow. "Ugh, I've got such a headache."

"It's okay, it goes away," Daniel urged, his own having faded to a bearable throb at the nape of his neck. "You've got to get up, Sam. We need to find Jack and Teal'c and make sure they're okay."

"Why? What's happened . . . ? Wait, is that you, Daniel?" Sam was blinking, wincing at the brightness just as Daniel had. "You sound really different."

"Er, that's because I am different," Daniel confessed. "Uh . . . we both seem to have lost a few years."

"What?" Sam rubbed her eyes with her outstretched fingers, and pushed herself onto her elbow. She rubbed her hand down her face, looking up at Daniel, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Daniel?"

"Yeah, uh, I know." Daniel glanced sideways, scrunching his lips together a little. "You too, actually," he warned, even as Sam looked down at herself, patting herself down.

"Oh my goodness." She blinked at Daniel, then at her hands. "I-I think . . . I think I'm twelve again."

Daniel licked his lips and glanced back up the dune he had come down. "I think it was that device that did it to us," he confessed. "I haven't found Jack and Teal'c yet, but they've probably also been, er … regressed."

"Then I guess we'd better find them." Sam reached down and cinched her belt as well; her hands were thin, and she shoved back her sleeves, but her BDUs didn't drown her quite as much as they did Daniel. Daniel fumbled with his sleeves, rolling them back, then stuffed his pants into the top of his boots, hoping they'd help insure that his boots would stay on.

"Okay, um . . . I found you on my left, and you were standing on my left when I accidentally activated the device, so . . ."

"The Colonel was on your right, and Teal'c was standing right behind him," Carter recalled. Her voice was a little higher-pitched than it once had been.

"So let's check that way," Daniel pointed up the dune he had just come down.

The pair of children scrambled up the sandy slope.

&

"O'Neill!"

Oh, this was not Jack O'Neill's favorite way to wake up. His head pounded, his limbs ached, and damn Teal'c was speaking unnecessarily loudly. "Teal'c, shush," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Had he been drinking? He didn't remember drinking. Usually when he woke up with a pounding headache he remembered the first six or seven beers at least.

"O'Neill, it is best that you get up." Teal'c refused to leave him alone.

Jack sighed, and threw his arm over his eyes, cracking them open. He could just see Teal'c. "What?" he demanded. His bed shifted like sand under his head.

"It would appear that we have all become significantly younger," Teal'c said.

"Huh?" Jack squeezed his eyes shut then opened them again, blinking against his arm before sitting up. "Whoa."

He was sitting on the edge of a sand dune, and suddenly he remembered everything – the ruins, Daniel running his fingers over the writing, the flash – and now here he was, at least a hundred feet from the ruins with a pounding headache (which was thankfully beginning to fade). "What do you mean, we've gotten younger?" he looked down at himself, then up at Teal'c again.

Teal'c didn't appear any different, except that his tattoo seemed to be almost pinching on a forehead slightly too small for it. Jack looked back down at himself, lifting a knee to get to his feet.

It was then that he realized the near-constant ache in his bad knee was gone. He blinked and patted himself down. His body was thinner and wirier.

"Jack! Teal'c!"

"Sir!"

It was a child's voice and someone that sounded quite similar to Carter, and Jack looked over to see a young boy with cropped blond hair and a young woman with a similar hairstyle starting down the dune to his left. "Who?" he called back, unable to make out more details in the glittering light.

"Sir, it's us!" the girl waved.

"Major Carter and Daniel!" the boy added, catching himself on his hands at the valley of the dune. "We've been turned into kids!"

"I, too, have become younger," Teal'c rumbled beside him. "I feel as I did some years ago, before I became the First Prime of Apophis."

"Which would explain your tattoo," the boy offered, coming to their side and panting a little. He raised his eyebrows at Jack behind oversized glasses, who stared at the boy non-plussed, hardly able to believe this was Daniel he was looking at. "Hey, Jack, you're hair's blond again."

"Really?" Jack ran a hand through his hair. "How old do I look?"

"Er … about 19, sir, maybe 20," the girl offered.

"… Okay, this is all some crazy dream, right?" Jack asked, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. His pants slipped down around his slimmed hips, and he hitched them up, reaching for his belt.

"Then it's a crazy dream we're all sharing," the boy claiming to be Daniel said woefully, shoving his glasses back up his nose again with an almost vicious movement that bespoke frustration. "What I understood of the text did speak of eternal youth and such, but I didn't expect . . ." he trailed off, crossing his arms over himself with a frown of concentration that Jack recognized instantly as an exclusively Daniel-esque posture. "Huh. I'll bet if I just read a little further—" the boy turned suddenly and started for the ruins.

"No!" the girl – no, that was definitely Carter – shook her head sharply, drawing Daniel up short.

"What? We need to find out how to reverse this!" Daniel spun around indignantly, his shoes flapping a little in the sand as he looked up at Jack expectantly.

Jack had to bite back a laugh at the sight. Daniel could have been Carter's younger brother, they were so alike in their features; both shared blue eyes and blond hair, and, amusingly, similar face shapes. Carter's sleeves and pants bunched at her wrists and ankles, and she had lost several inches of height. Daniel looked like a kid who had been caught playing dress-up in his father's clothes, and it didn't help that he was using his patented 'what the hell?' look on them both. "Daniel, no," he said after he'd gotten control of himself. This whole situation was just … so unbelievable, and yet so _believable_ in that they'd been in equally insane situations on far too many counts. "Look at us. We've all regressed, what, 25 years? A little more than that? If you accidentally trigger that thing again, what'll happen? Will we all just pop out of existence except for Teal'c? I, for one, am not eager to find out."

"But, Jack—" Daniel was winding up for an argument – one that would likely be long, irritable, and unavoidably delivered in the voice of a whiny child.

"Ah!" Jack held up a finger; the admonition had the usual effect – a sullen glare. "You got footage of the ruins, right? You can take it back to the SGC and look at it there." Jack lifted his head and addressed the whole team. "All right, let's pack it up and head back to the 'gate so we can get poked with needles for a while, kids."

Three sets of eyebrows rose, and three sets of eyes settled on their suddenly youthful CO.

"Er . . . bad choice of words."

tbc . . .


	2. Things Get Slightly Atypical

Chapter 2: Things Turn Slightly Atypical 

"Well, General," Janet Frasier began, "they are who they say they are. The blood-work proves it."

"Which is what we've been trying to tell you," groaned the 20-year-old sitting on the bed closest to General Hammond and Frasier. "Not that I'm surprised at the eagerness to poke us full of holes."

Hammond just heaved a slow sigh, shaking his head almost imperceptibly at Colonel Jack O'Neill. Indeed, stranger things had happened to the team – seemed it often did, really. The situation had been thoroughly explained to him in the informal circumstances, described in different words by each of the team members: to O'Neill, it was an unpleasant surprise he didn't understand. Carter was wondering about the scientific implications of the artifact that had done this to them. Dr. Jackson had articulated theories about eternal youth and rituals, and Teal'c had stressed his surprise the Goa'uld had not apparently made use of this technology. He let his gaze sweep over the four of them.

"From all appearances, the entirety of the SG-1 team has regressed about 25 years," Dr. Frasier was saying, and indeed that appeared to be the case. O'Neill's form, which was usually that of a somewhat lanky man who had filled his frame out with the years, had lost his adult build and appeared to be just barely out of adolescence. By this time of the day he would usually have a five-o'clock shadow, but he had only the barest of stubble on his chin. His hair was still short and sticking up wildly, but had gone reddish-blonde. But his demeanor hadn't changed in the least; he shot Hammond a slightly challenging look, as if daring the General to contradict his claimed identity.

The rest of the team was in similar states. Major Samantha Carter appeared to be at the other end of the adolescent spectrum; she was drowned in her black t-shirt, her figure and bust underdeveloped. Her hair hadn't changed much, except the blond was more pronounced, and her arms and legs were long and thin. She kept glancing up and down between her interlaced fingers and the General, occasionally glancing at the back of O'Neill's head.

Doctor Daniel Jackson was even younger than the Major, a waif not even fitting the smallest BDUs on base. His hair was bleached as blond as Carter's; his glasses, unfortunately too big for his face, were laid beside him on the bed. He was fiddling with the end of his t-shirt, his lips formed into a familiar pout and his eyebrows raised thoughtfully as he watched the General for his response.

Teal'c was the least changed of the four, as the loss of twenty-five years of his life had not taken him back into his developing years. His bulk was less than it had been before, but his dark eyes stared out impassively from under the same gold tattoo; his forehead seemed somewhat pinched from it, however. He seemed calm, almost indifferent; he raised an eyebrow when Hammond met his gaze, but nodded slightly in deferment to his judgment.

"What are the implications here, doctor?" Hammond asked after a moment's consideration.

"They all seem to have maintained their mature neurological patterns," Frasier explained. "This means they have all retained all their knowledge despite their physiological regression. I can't say the same for their chemical and hormonal balances, which have returned to normal levels for their apparent ages." She shook her head, glancing over at O'Neill, who looked unimpressed. "I can't say for sure what the implications of that sort of a change will be. There are rare cases of people who have a disorder that prevents physical progression beyond a certain age; I can study up on those cases and make predictions based on those scenarios, but there's no guarantee the results will be accurate."

"Doctor," Daniel piped up, startling Hammond a bit. Dr. Jackson's voice hadn't broken yet. "I'm curious about something. Teal'c didn't become First Prime of Apophis until about 20 years ago, so how come he still has his gold tattoo? It looked pinched, and that's explained by the physical differences, but—"

"I see what you're getting at, Daniel," Frasier acknowledged, interrupting him gently. "Any changes you have made to your body over the past quarter-century that are not regulated by your DNA will not have disappeared. For instance, Daniel, your haircut hasn't changed. You didn't keep it that short when you were young, did you?"

Daniel considered this, running a hand over his cropped hair. "No . . . kind of had a bowl cut most of my life," he answered, a smile twitching across his face. "Okay, I think I get it."

"Did we lose any immunities we developed over those years?" Carter asked, looking genuinely curious rather than worried.

"I don't believe so, but it'll take a few extra tests to be sure," the doctor answered.

"Well, doctor, what's the final word on the matter?" Hammond asked.

Dr. Frasier shrugged, seemingly at a loss. "Other than their obvious . . . condition, I can give SG-1 a clean bill of health. Although I'd like to keep an eye on them." She didn't seem exactly happy about it, although her expression showed more confusion than concern.

"I see." Hammond looked over the three youngsters and the Jaffa, considering his options. They weren't many. Daniel would almost certainly want to go back and take another look at the ruins; Samantha Carter would probably express similar interests. Actually, he rather expected the entire team would want to return to the planet, given their usual reactions to these sorts of changes. Therefore, the General decided to immediately lay a ground rule. "For the time being, all four of you are confined to this base. Doctor, how often do you need to see them?"

"I can't be sure. Have them check back with me in 24 hours," Frasier recommended.

"Very well. I'm considering SG-1 under the influence of alien technology. You can continue your on-world duties to . . . to the best of your abilities," he decided, allowing especially for the state of Carter and Daniel. Dr. Frasier, your first priority is to investigate a way to reverse the process."

"With all due respect, sir, the answer might be in the ruins themselves." It was Daniel again, although he was shooting sideways glances at Jack. Jack was raising his eyebrows incredulously. "And before Jack tells me we can't go back for now, I do have tapes, but if they don't render anything of use, I'd like to go back to P4C-723 to take a second look."

"Sir, I agree with Daniel, but with reservations," the Major said now. She had hopped to her feet, and it was slightly comical to see her standing at attention in that body. "Given that the technology has reversed our age by as much as 25 years, a second activation could be disastrous. However, I think there's a good chance the artifact can somehow be reactivated to have the opposite effect – but I can't be certain without looking at it myself."

"Oh for crying out loud!" Jack half-shook his head in a familiar gesture, and Hammond was impressed the Colonel had been silent for as long as he had. "The General's right, we should stay on base for now. I really, really don't want to get zapped out of existence," he said, shooting a glance at Daniel. Daniel returned the look with open irritation. "And I don't want you to get zapped out of existence. Just … let's see what's on the tapes before we go risk our necks on some ancient civilization's idea of a practical joke."

"I concur with O'Neill," Teal'c said with calm assurance. "There may yet be a way in which Doctor Frasier may help us, as well."

"In any case, that's my final word on the subject for the time being," Hammond spoke as Teal'c finished, making it clear that his decision was not to be overruled. "I'll reassess the situation based on your findings, Dr. Jackson, and yours, Dr. Frasier. SG-1, you're dismissed. And take care. I'll make sure the security checkpoints are notified of your . . . condition."

&

The arrangements were made for SG-1 to sleep on base; Teal'c left to perform Kel'no'reem, and Daniel joined him for the evening, trotting off after him like a child following a favorite uncle. Jack grumped around the base, pestered Carter in her lab for a little while, then disappeared to the commissary for dinner.

Being younger had its advantages; although Janet said that the knee damage wasn't truly undone, the pain was almost unnoticeable, and something indefinable had him wide awake late into the night. Around 11 o'clock, after tossing about in the ridiculously oversized VIP beds provided on base, Jack finally went looking for Daniel. He wasn't in his own bedroom; in fact, the queen-sized bed hadn't even been disturbed, which meant he would probably be found in only one place.

Jack poked his head into Daniel's office ten minutes later – and the sight was, sadly, comical. Daniel was curled up in his desk chair, in which he fit comfortably on a normal day, but today he looked like a kid trying out his father's seat for size. His legs were drawn up to his chest and one arm was wrapped around them; his other hand rested on a pad of paper with a pen clutched in small fingers, the TV remote merely inches away. He was avidly watching the footage he had taken on P4C-723 from behind glasses slowly slipping down his nose, his pen flashing across the legal pad occasionally, jotting notes. "Hey, Daniel."

Daniel jumped a little and looked up, craning his neck around. "Jack." He paused the video and reached for a cup of coffee on the desk, which he had to handle with two hands. "What is it?"

"Just wanted to poke my head in, see if you were making any progress." Jack meandered inside, fingering a death mask labeled 'P3X-811'. He hoped Daniel wasn't going to need it any time soon, since it was currently considerably out of his reach.

"Don't touch that. And no, not really." Daniel put down the mug carefully and pushed his glasses back up his small nose before he picked up his pen, fiddling with it. "The writing is pretty much a derivation of Greek, but there's goa'uld on these other panels. The Greek tells a tale of the search for eternal youth and beauty . . ." Daniel trailed off, flipping through his notes. "'And yea, the men rejoiced, and yea, the women rejoiced, for the light fell upon them and the years were shed like snakes shed their skin,' et cetera . . ." he waved his hand in a circle, indicating an ongoing passage. "That's a pretty loose translation, though, since I don't have a full handle on the dialect."

"'Snakes shed their skin'. Nice imagery," Jack snorted, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed.

"Yeah, and not exactly coincidental. The goa'uld text indicates three comings of their God that I've documented so far." Daniel rubbed his eyes and reached for his coffee again. "Each time he came in a different shape: a beautiful man, then a beautiful woman, and again as an old man. It's hard to tell how far apart these visits were, although the documentation of the first and second visit is significantly older than the third, simply judging by the visible wear on the stone."

"Got a name for the snakehead?"

"Not yet. The text refers to him only as 'your god', 'our god', and the like. It's got to be there somewhere, though." Daniel drained his cup and eyed the bottom of the mug as if offended to find it there. "On top of that, I'm presuming the goa'uld didn't come back any time after the device was completed. If the device is completely successful – which it seems to be – then any goa'uld that got their hands on that technology would almost certainly desert the sarcophagus – or only use it for emergencies – in favor of this artifact. Unless it only works once, or it interferes with the sarcophagus' healing abilities . . ." Daniel trailed off, looking overwhelmed by the possibilities. "I'm having a hard time concentrating, though."

"Of course you are, Danny," Jack grinned when Daniel lifted his gaze, his mouth slightly open in his 'fish out of water' look. "You're nine years old. It's eleven o'clock. And how much caffeine have you pumped into your body?"

Daniel gave him a considering look, then glanced away, closing his mouth and frowning a little. "Probably too much," he acknowledged, putting down the mug.

"Go to bed," Jack instructed, not unkindly. "Get some sleep. Everything will be waiting for you in the morning, and it's not like we're going anywhere."

"I guess." Daniel sounded like a grudging child, and Jack felt a small pang of sadness. For a moment, this child-sized version of Daniel looked almost identical to Charlie. He turned off the power on the television and slid out of his chair, going to the coffee maker against the far wall and stretching up to turn that off as well.

"How'd you fill that thing?" Jack asked as Daniel crossed in front of him and out of the office.

"What thing? The – oh, the coffee maker?" grinned Daniel. "I pulled up my chair and stood on it."

"Clever," Jack agreed, switching off the lights and following him. Daniel was moving at a trot, which let Jack follow him with long, steady strides. "Could've asked me to come down, I wasn't doing anything."

"And wait for you to meander your way to my office? Forget it," Daniel snorted, although the last words were stifled by a yawn. "Ugh. Need a bed. Night, Jack." He turned down a different hall, going to his designated room.

Jack stifled the ridiculous desire to follow him and tuck him into bed, and wandered off again in search of something to read until his own body was ready for sleep.

&


	3. Coffee, Tea, and Cancer

Chapter 3: Coffee and Tea 

"It's Cronus."

"Mmph?"

"The Goa'uld. It's Cronus." Daniel set his breakfast tray and the folder of video footage photos on the table before hiking himself into the seat – not too much of a struggle, but he was a little short to just slide in. "Found out this morning just before my shower."

Jack swallowed before answering, already cutting off another mouthful of the stack of pancakes on his plate. "You woke up and just started doing translations?" He'd forgotten how good pancakes were. Forgotten how good hash browns were, too, and scrambled eggs with bacon. He couldn't remember the last time he'd – no, wait, there was the time with Urgo and the pie. That had been amazing pie.

Daniel's plate had maybe a third of a portion of scrambled eggs and some hash browns on it, which he started digging into without much zeal. "You don't have to sound so incredulous." He sounded offended. "Anyway, the point is this is just proof that he probably never had access to the device. He looks too . . . well, old."

"Did I miss anything?" Jack looked up to see Carter taking the seat next to Daniel, a smile crossing her face a little unexpectedly. She was a cute kid, Jack decided rather arbitrarily, the kind that probably played soccer or lacrosse or whatever the big kid sport was when Carter was twelve years old. Her own breakfast consisted of yogurt and toast with blueberry jam, whereas it might have usually consisted of oatmeal or cereal. And for that matter, when had Daniel started eating breakfast, even that pathetically meager helping? Coffee was present, so the world wasn't completely off-kilter, but still. He jerked his chin at Daniel in response to Carter's query and swallowed.

"I found out the goa'uld who played God on that planet was Cronus," Daniel explained around a mouthful of coffee. "It's not exactly progress, though. I've only got one tape to go and there's nothing scientific on those walls – not a word about how the device works or anything."

Carter looked a little crestfallen, but it might have just been Jack's imagination. "Don't worry, Daniel. I'm sure there's something there we can work with. Maybe Janet's come up with something," she added brightly.

"Sure." Daniel poked at his hash browns, slouching in his seat.

Jack resumed eating with gusto. It was understandable that neither Carter nor Daniel was particularly enjoying this little trip back in bodily time: the Major, naturally an independent person, had required a lab assistant at all times for the last day and a half, and Daniel – well, he had regressed far past puberty. Restarting from the age of 20 wasn't exactly a hardship in Jack's opinion. Restarting from nine, on the other hand, was a bit much. Even twelve didn't sound like much of a consolation prize. He watched silently while Daniel cleared the plate of eggs and went back to pushing his hash browns around the plate. Such a kid, he found himself thinking, surprising himself. Then again, Daniel wasn't the type usually given over to playing with his leftovers.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Carter beat him to it. "Something on your mind, Daniel?"

"Nothing really." Daniel let his fork clatter to the plate and reached for his coffee again. "I was just thinking. I'd really like to go back to the planet, and soon. I wish we'd gone right away."

"Why?" Sam's toast hung forgotten from her index finger and thumb.

Daniel swallowed some coffee. "Just a bad feeling." He sighed, putting down his mug firmly on the countertop. "But I'm probably just sick of being too short to reach anything again."

"That's what big brother Jack is for," O'Neill couldn't help throwing in, which earned him a flashing grin from Carter – and was that a touch of shyness? – but Daniel just scowled at him.

"Don't even joke about that," he snorted, visibly unimpressed.

"Reminds me, though. What were you doing the last time you were this age?" Carter pointed her fork at nothing in particular as she talked, gesticulating a bit. "I mean . . . sir, when you were actually twenty, what were you up to?"

"What brings on this line of questioning, Carter?" Jack asked good-naturedly. His pancakes cleared from his plate, he settled in on the eggs.

"Just curious, sir."

"Well, let's see. Twenty . . . I was in the Air Force Academy," Jack recalled thoughtfully. He decided not to elaborate at the last minute. "That answer your question for you?"

"Pretty much, inside and out," Sam flashed that kid's smile again. "What about you, Daniel?"

At the mention of his name, Daniel blinked, then scowled a little, pursing his lips before opening his mouth for a moment – the classic 'no wait I'm catching up' look Jack had come to recognize. "Ah . . . I'd just gotten to the United States. Got put in sixth grade," he recalled.

"Impressive for nine years old," Carter grinned.

"Not really. Almost got held back on my math skills. Wish I'd known you, Sam," Daniel smiled back. He poked dolefully at his hash browns again, and finally pushed the tray away, picking up his coffee mug again.

"Mm." Sam polished off her toast and licked her fingers thoughtfully.

"You going to finish that, Danny?" Jack couldn't help asking. He was most of the way through his own food.

"Have at, Jack." Daniel took a long slurp.

Jack immediately took said plate and began to scrape the hash browns into his own pile, which ignited a chuckle from Sam's direction. "What, Carter?"

"Oh, just thinking." Sam took another spoonful of yogurt. "I've never seen you eat so much, Colonel."

"So? I'm hungry," Jack explained around a mouthful of hash browns.

"You're never that hungry. If you were that hungry on a regular basis, you'd weigh two hundred pounds." Daniel practically said it into his coffee cup.

"Yeah? _You_ could probably use the weight, shrimp," Jack grinned good-naturedly.

"Shut up, Jack," Daniel grumbled, spots of color high in his cheeks.

"No, seriously, sir," Carter interrupted their banner. "Janet said our hormone levels are normal for our apparent ages, and hormones have an effect on appetite," she pointed out. "You're probably eating like . . . well, a twenty-year-old."

"Good to know I _can _eat like a twenty-year-old. Think I'll go pig out on the commissary cookies for lunch and follow it up with the biggest sandwich they've got."

"Already thinking about lunch, sir?" Carter raised her eyebrows, a smile curling on her face again.

"A guy can dream," Jack half-smirked and shoveled the last of his food into his mouth. "Daniel, where're you wandering off to?"

Daniel had half gotten up out of his seat, juggling his printed scans and coffee mug again. "What? My office," he said in a mildly confused tone. "Gotta finish that last tape . . ." he wandered off, apologizing vaguely when he almost bumped into an airman on his way out of the commissary.

Jack watched him go with raised eyebrows. "Mind's always going a million miles a minute."

"Not unlike your mouth, sir," Carter said cheekily.

&

Ten hours later found SG-1 and Dr. Frasier in the briefing room, facing General Hammond. Sam, having already heard the bad news from Daniel and Janet, knew exactly what to expect – for the most part. They'd spent the last hour being poked and prodded again, Dr. Frasier looking steadily more and more unhappy. She wouldn't tell them what was wrong, though, and that was never a good sign. She tended to tell the good news to everyone in turn. Bad news, she liked to save until everyone was present and accounted for.

Of the members of SG-1, Sam knew she'd seen the most of Teal'c – he'd appeared in her lab yesterday, offering his assistance due to her reduced stature and, embarrassingly, increased clumsiness. She had to admit to a pang of jealousy that Daniel's coordination was the same as ever: never a waver while handling those precious artifacts around his office. She, on the other hand, found her hands unable to complete the complicated work she'd needed to complete on a damaged naquadah reactor. Teal'c had been a complete godsend; his ability to follow orders instantly and without question was almost as perfect as if Carter had been able to do the work herself.

The General surveyed his five subordinates quickly then asked, his head swiveling back and forth between Daniel and Janet, "What's the news, people?"

"Nothing, General." Daniel's voice sounded suspiciously sulky, although Carter was relieved she no longer jumped at his young voice. Her own had gone up a couple of notches, but not so noticeably as Daniel's. "There was a lot of history on those tapes, but nothing concrete enough to give Sam something to work with. The people populating P4C-723 were of Greek origin, though, which was interesting given the desert setting. They . . . er . . ." he trailed off, shooting a guilty look at the Colonel. Sam glanced over as well, and found Jack raising his eyebrows discouragingly at Daniel. "Well, it can wait," he conceded, fiddling with his pen.

"You said there was goa'uld text on those walls as well, Dr. Jackson?" Hammond encouraged gently.

"Ah, yes." Daniel brightened a little at the support. "It seems Cronus was the one that displaced the population – probably not long after their writing system developed. He made two returns in quick succession, and – I'm presuming – early in their history – and a third several hundred years later. I can't be sure without another firsthand look, but the record of his third return is roughly a century older than the last of the Greek text I recorded. I don't know if that's the last of the text, though – I didn't finish my evaluation before we, er . . . regressed."

"That's partially my fault, sir," Sam jumped in. "I found the device without knowing what it was and asked Daniel to come take a look at it. He was reading the writing around it when he – we – set it off, and you know the rest."

"I'm not interested in placing blame, Major." Hammond spoke with a tone he might have used for a child, and Carter tried not to puff up with indignation. "What matters is that we find a solution for this mess. Is there anything important we need to know about Cronus, Dr. Jackson?"

"Well . . . provided that's in fact the last of goa'uld text, Cronus hasn't been to the planet in just over two thousand years," Daniel explained, giving Sam a sympathetic look. "Or if he had returned, there wasn't anyone present to record it. If you want my opinion, sir, I think the people that populated those ruins abandoned them around the same time they recorded the first use of the device."

"I have an explanation for that, sir." Janet jumped in, drawing everyone's attention. Her mouth was grim as she spoke. "I don't believe the ruins were abandoned. The population died."

"Died? How do you know?" The General sounded like he was dreading what was coming as much as Sam was. The Colonel opened his mouth to say something, but at the last minute he seemed to catch it on the tip of his tongue and swallow it.

"I can't explain the specifics, sir, but I've been looking at SG-1's blood samples. Their DNA is fraying at the ends; it's rather similar to the way DNA begins to lose it integrity in the later stages of the human life cycle." She darted a quick look at the members of SG-1, and her words were dismal. "This often leads directly into diseases such as cancer, or simply death. Sir, unless we find a way to restore SG-1 to their original state, I'm afraid I'd have to give them a life expectancy of no more than six months to a year."

There was dead silence.

Sam's mind whirled. Six months? She was supposed to only live six months? Even Jack seemed to be at a complete loss for words. Teal'c's lips were turned down more severely than usual, and Hammond was frowning at Dr. Frasier as if a change in her diagnosis would somehow change reality.

To Sam's surprise, it was Daniel that broke the silence. "That would explain it. The population would have largely perished before they could give birth to another generation, or raise the children to self-sufficiency . . ." he trailed off, his eyes never lifting from the pen spinning in his fingers. "But that would mean the entire population was exposed to the device. Maybe the younger half of the population was kept clear, but after burying their dead, they left . . ."

"Doesn't do us any good now, though," Jack said flatly. He turned to Hammond. "Sir, in light of the fact that it doesn't look like we have long to live one way or another, winking out of existence doesn't sound like such a bad plan after all. Permission to return to P4C-723 for another look at that device."

"Granted." Hammond shot the word out almost before Jack could finish his sentence. "Thank you, doctor, and thank you, Dr. Jackson. Quickly, son, what's your assessment of the goa'uld threat?"

Daniel's eyes widened like a deer in headlights, and he froze for a second. "Uh . . . well, the information's incomplete, so I can't be absolutely sure. If Cronus returned to find none of his worshippers survived, then he's not likely to return to the planet. But if that third trip was in fact his last one . . . I'm hesitant to say he won't be back. I mean, I thought he was long gone from Juna, but he proved me wrong . . ."

"I see." Hammond pondered the information gravely.

"Sir, if I may, I'd rather not expose anyone else to the device if we fail to deactivate it or reverse it." Sam resisted the urge to swing her feet.

"The chance of Cronus' return while we are present on P4C-723 is very slim, General Hammond," Teal'c said, speaking for the first time since he had entered the room. "Should a situation arise in which a hostile force presents itself, I believe that O'Neill and I would be enough to handle the threat. Also, although they are children, Daniel Jackson and Major Carter both retain the knowledge they have obtained in adulthood. Their skills must not be underestimated."

"Thank you, Teal'c. I'll take your opinion into consideration," the General nodded his head at the big Jaffa, whose bulk was still considerable. "SG-1, you'll embark tomorrow at 0800 hours. Colonel, I'm considering sending SG-3 with you. Major, I want you and Dr. Jackson to decide what essentials you'll need, since you're going to have to carry reduced packs."

The General was clearly thinking back to their first return from P4C-723, which hadn't been the most dignified of arrivals; Teal'c had been carrying Daniel's pack, and Daniel and Sam had been huffing and puffing together with the sheer effort of joint-shouldering Carter's gear. They'd ended up dragging it through the Stargate a minute after the other two members of their team, sprawling on their backs when the 'Gate spat them back out into the gateroom. Sam colored a little, a rueful smile on her lips as she met Daniel's gaze; his own lips were curled up in a hesitant, self-conscious smile, his cheeks bright with embarrassment.

"Dismissed!" Hammond finalized, and Sam wondered how on she was going to sleep tonight, knowing that without a visible solution on the horizon, she likely would not live to see . . . well, thirteen a second time.


End file.
